Hateful
by CrossoverQueen
Summary: They all hate themselves, and it's not obvious in any way.
1. Eyes

**Hateful **

**A/N:** I do not own Teen Titans. If I did, it would be an entirely different show.

I have no idea why I came up with this. I was looking at TT screenshots last night, and I thought out of the blue, "Robin hates his eyes." I came to the conclusion that if Robin never takes off his mask, wouldn't there be some deep-seated emotion behind it? I mean, it's _Robin_--he's obsessive, he's paranoid, and he blames himself for every single thing that he can't stop. I wouldn't put it past him to hate his own features if he wants to.

(And before you ask, I KNOW that Robin's eyes are blue. Give me some creative license.)

-  
Robin hates his eyes.

No, he is not blind, nor nearsighted, nor colorblind, nor anything of the sort. There is nothing _wrong_ with his eyes, if you only take physical health into account.

But they are _Robin's_ eyes, and that is why he hates them. They are the eyes that have seen too many battles, too many car accidents, too many buildings burned to the ground with people still alive and screaming.

They are a perfect mix of his parents' eyes--his mother's piercing grey and his father's easygoing green.

When he wore white, the grey would shine though and block out the green. "He has his mother's eyes," said some.

When he wore blue, the green would stand out and smother the grey. "He has his father's eyes," said others.

When he wore black, no one saw what color they were because his eyes were too wet to tell.

-  
Robin despises his eyes.

They saw a teen who hated to see his friends hurt because _he_ couldn't push past his limits anymore, _he_ couldn't take hits and stand up again because he couldn't bleed, couldn't bruise, couldn't break like they did, and that hurt more than any broken bone or torn muscle or bleeding gash. _No matter how hard I try, a hundred percent is all I have._

They saw a spindly green changeling who'd gotten his heart ripped to shreds by a blonde traitor, spent his nights clutching a mirrored box and trying to pull himself back together even though he couldn't let her go. _I'm not your friend anymore; you were just pretending._

They saw an alien princess who seemed naive about Earth customs, yet understood far more than anyone else._ We are not okay--I fear we will never be okay again._

They saw a white-robed little girl who was terrified of facing her demon father because he'd taken away her powers, her memories, her life, and now all she had was this masked stranger who told her a story about this brave teenage girl called Raven. _I'm lost._

-  
Robin loathes his eyes.

He doesn't like to get ready for the day, catch sight of his unmasked reflection in the window and nearly attack it because oh my god, why is this freaky kid in my _room_--but it's only himself.

He doesn't like looking in the mirror and seeing a wiry boy who looks like he's seen too much of the world (and six of seven hells) even though he's halfway past sixteen.

He doesn't like when he steps out of the shower, gives an errant glance to the mirror and sees the eyes that witnessed his parents fall to their deaths. _Mom Dad why aren't you talking what do I do it hurts when I'm alone please don't leave me, don't leave me, don't leave me_...

-  
On good days, when he hasn't stayed up looking for clues about Slade because he actually slept, he goes on the roof and looks out at the sea and he feels almost weightless. Not like the kid who watched his parents die, not like the Fearless Leader of the Teen Titans, not like the person who went through the depths of hell to bring one of his best friends back because the world was ending and he didn't want her to be alone.

On bad days, when he hasn't gotten enough sleep and he tries to forget that dream about screams and falling and _oh god what happened, are they all right, why aren't they moving, why aren't they talking to me, they're gone they're gone they're **gone**_, that's when the hate sinks in further.

He wishes he could gouge his eyes out on those days, get rid of them somehow and then he _really_ can't take his mask off--because who would want to see the Boy Wonder with no eyes?

But he stops thinking about that, because if he had no eyes, he wouldn't see Starfire float around and chatter about how she finally understands a certain Earth custom because it's so similar to the Festival of Something-He-Can't-Pronounce.

He wouldn't see Beast Boy stand with mouth agape whenever Raven almost _laughs_ at one of his not-so-lame jokes.

He wouldn't see Cyborg barge into the living room with a huge grin on his face and say that he's made waffles because it's _someone's_ birthday today.

He wouldn't see one of Raven's blink-and-you-missed-it smiles whenever she stands next to him on a good day--no battles, no monsters, no Slade, no apocalypse--and feels genuine happiness spilling over from his mind to hers.

But today was a bad day. He'd woken up at 4:23 AM in a dead panic and almost _crying_, like he was having a nervous breakdown or finally snapped from the pressure. _Crying_.

His eyes were burning and his chest was unbearably tight, like it was caught in a vice. But no matter how hard he shut his eyes or how slowly he breathed, it just wouldn't _stop_, and his eyes kept burning and he still couldn't breathe and why was he acting like some little kid who'd just had a nightmare? He's _Robin_, he's the leader of the Teen Titans, he shouldn't wake up afraid to move because of some half-recalled dream from his childhood.

Beast Boy and Cyborg got into yet another argument, Starfire was tying to force-feed them Pudding of Friendship, and Raven wasn't even awake to cow them all into silence.

No, Raven had fallen asleep on the couch fifteen minutes ago, with her cloak draped over her like a blanket. Star, after noticing that it was just one of the usual fights to claim the remote, had stopped attempting to feed them Pudding of Friendship and was instead drinking mustard. Beast Boy and Cyborg were _still_ arguing, but in hushed tones because even the remote wasn't reason enough to wake up Raven and possibly have her go four-red-eyed on them.

And the Boy Wonder? Well, he was sitting in the hallway, bored out of his mind and wishing for something to do besides getting a fork and prying his eyes out, because if there was trouble in the city, Cinderblock or some other superpowered criminal, then he wouldn't be stuck here with no one to talk to and only the ever-present loathing of his--

"Robin."

"Raven! Is that you?" Shocked out of his thoughts, he turns to see Raven, with slightly messy hair and a barely rumpled cloak.

"Yes, fearless leader, it's me. _Ra-ven_," she enunciates clearly, as if teaching him how to talk properly. She sits next to him, levitating five or six inches in the air as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "Will you tell me why I woke up wanting to gouge my eyes out with something blunt?"

"'Cause I hate my eyes," he blurts out, then winches and waits for either an "I'm sure they're not _that_ bad"--or worse, a "You don't deserve to hate yourself like that."

Even though it's Raven and she doesn't _do_ sympathy.

"...Why?"

For a moment he thinks up an excuse--he could say his eyes were annoying him to hell today, really dry for some reason, and he's never had a problem before so that's why he said... But he gives it up as Raven gives him one of her _looks_. Of course she wouldn't believe it--they have a bond, and coupled with Raven's empathy, that doesn't give him much room for lying.

"Because they're mine and I'm sick of them," he admits.

"...You want a second opinion?"

Robin doesn't say anything for a few minutes; that was definitely something he didn't expect her to say.

"I'd like an answer before next year, oh Fearless Leader."

"Sure..." His hand hovers over his mask a moment; he's never taken off his mask in front of anyone before, still can't get rid of the paranoia about his secret identity, and what if she says something cliché or tells the others what color his eyes are or God help him, what if it's just a prank to get him to take off his mask...?

_No_, he forces his thoughts to stop. _This is Raven. She doesn't **do** jokes and you have no right to be paranoid around her_.

After several more moments of steeling himself to just _take off the damn mask_, he almost rips it off and feels his fingers give a reflexive twitch. His face feels almost cold without it on, and he forces himself not to close his eyes as Raven peers at him, without a single reaction he can see or feel.

"Hmm..."

_Don't close my eyes_, Robin reminds himself. Why is she still looking at him?

"I don't think they're anything to mope about," Raven says finally. "They're all right."

Silence. He's starting to feel on edge now, with Raven still looking at him without his mask--why is she still _looking_ at him?

"Is... that it?" Robin asks, putting his mask back on and finally losing the feeling of being too close to something large and dangerous. "You don't think--"

"Yes, that's it. You wouldn't believe anything else I say." She straightens her legs and stands up, heading for the door.

"Raven..." He stands as well, half-reaching to make her stop before realizing he's done so.

She stops. "What?"

He shifts his weight awkwardly; he doesn't know what to say.

"...Thanks."

-  
Ever since that talk with Raven--since he first took off his mask in front of someone, someone besides Bruce or Alfred--he feels that part of the hate has left him; only the smallest fraction, but he still feels it.

He's going to have to get used to this feeling--this feeling of lessened hate, of not-quite-blind loathing. Nobody, not even one of his best friends, will be able to change how he feels in a single day.

Robin still hates his eyes.

But that doesn't mean he still wants to.  
**  
-  
A/N:** I had the WORST time trying to wrap up this fic without giving in to my Raven/Robin impulse, and I still don't like that ending. It's all right, but it feels horribly unfinished and the Raven/Robin impulses are NOT STOPPING!

I went through at least three different Robin/Raven endings before just plunking down in front of the computer and pulling random sentences out of my thoughts.

So, tell me what you think of this drastically unfinished fanfic.


	2. Skin

**Note:** This is most definitely more stream-of-consciousness than the first one. I'm not sure even _I_ understand all of it.

_-skin-  
_  
Raven hates her skin.

It is not oily, nor rough, nor dry, nor too dark or light. Many girls (and even some of the male persuasion) actually envy her complexion, that flawless alabaster that could only be attained otherwise by makeup. But she hates it all the same.

They--her fans, her admirers--only see the unblemished "beauty," the even tone that lacks shine or wrinkles, the smooth paleness of it all. They see her as a slim, delicate thing, something to be protected; never mind that she could destroy them all in one fell strike, turn them all to stone and make them live their worst nightmares for all eternity.

They don't see the dark circles under her eyes when she gets too afraid to sleep (she can't sleep, it would make her dream, dreaming would make her _feel_, what if Trigon comes again because she's feeling happy or sad or angry, what if...). They romanticize the sheer emptiness of her complexion; there are only so many times you can call her skin "perfect" before you realize that it is just blank.

There are no little scars that come with stories of their acquisition. She cannot push back her sleeve and tell you, _Look, here's where my dog bit me when I was trying to train her_. She does not tap a spot on her leg and say, _See this crooked line on my shin? I needed four stitches when I crashed my bike into a car, it was kind of funny afterwards because I_...

There are no calluses on her hands that mark her as a musician, or martial artist, or someone who just does housework too much. There are no tan lines on her shoulders that give away a penchant for sunbathing. There are no smears on her hands where ink or graphite or paint rubbed off to show others that she is an artist or a writer.

Her skin is ashen, not alabaster--in the harsh noon daylight it makes her look frail, sickly, too pale to be healthy, and with her quiet rasp of a voice and withdrawn demeanor she might otherwise be mistaken for a recovering invalid.

People do not see the birthmarks that Slade brought to the surface of her skin, piercing fiery runes that mark her as Trigon's daughter, Raven the destroyer of the world. Even then they are not true birthmarks, merely light and magic that faded moments after they appeared.

Her skin is _empty_, and that is why she hates it.

-  
It's overcast today; a cold grey sky looms over them like some disheartened weather god as the others complain about the less-than-optimal weather.

It may rain--there is a smell in the air, a peculiar scent of water that has not the tang of salt, nor the seeping cold of fog. She would be glad for an excuse to stay inside, but there are the guaranteed complaints of Cyborg and Beast Boy, and perhaps the dampened spirit of Starfire--the Tamaranian never did take kindly to Earth's rain, and it's hard to meditate when she keeps picking up on Starfire's genuine unhappiness.

-  
It's raining now; too heavy to be a light drizzle, falling on the windows with the sort of muted sound only rain can make, but too light to be a total storm because there is no thunder or lightning, no relentless pounding of water against glass.

She goes out onto the roof anyway--she can't meditate, but her friends are not the cause, nor are their emotions straining her control.

Out here it is strangely quiet--the rain is a little louder now, but now everything is blurred, softer, calmer shades of blue and grey.

At first she keeps her hood on. When it gets soaked, she pushes it back because if her cloak is wet then it won't make much difference if her hood's up or not, and she's not going to stay very long anyway--she just wants a few minutes' quiet.

But then, as she stands in the rain and looks out over the tower and lets the rain seep through her hair, she feels something... give.

It's not her control, it's never her control, but it's something important, and she sits down to think and stares at her hands and wonders, what's happening? Why does she feel this way--this not-feeling that makes her want to cry or scream or jump off the tower, do _something_ because she's standing here in the rain and she only wants to feel better because she's supposed to end the world one day and she doesn't want to do that, she doesn't want to be alone with just memories of happier days, _I don't want to do that to my friends_...

_Why_...

She reaches up, leans forward, feels the shock of wet metal beneath her knees. Her eyes are burning even though her face is cold; why are her eyes burning like this? Is she crying? Is she feeling? Is this feeling even _hers_, or is it Robin's because he still hates his eyes so much? This isn't the first time she's had an epiphany at an odd moment, a vague revelation that wasn't even hers; she knew this would happen when she went into Robin's mind, almost forced her soul into his head and saw through those weary glass-green eyes.

She's kneeling now, must be looking like some follower claiming sanctuary in a church, incense burning and candles lit like jewels--but not the church she and Robin went in to hide from Slade. That wasn't the same, it wasn't _a sanctuary_ because she didn't want protection and nothing could ever protect her from being Trigon's daughter. Robin was in too much pain, too confused to ask anything, couldn't answer her even when she lifted his head off her lap and looked around at the dark ruined church (_no light no saving I'm sorry, you can't help me now_) and said his name.

**Robin, answer me, answer me, I'm sorry you have to watch me end the world.  
**  
Reach up, reach _up_; what is she trying to grab hold of?

But her hands stretch towards the sky anyway, imploring the weeping sky to take away everything she hates.

Wash off the ashen, sickly complexion.

Make her fire-red birthmarks fade into nothing.

Give her scars from the battles she has already fought.

_Make her something else_.

She breathes out, stops reaching for some imaginary god, then grips her arms as if she's keeping herself together in the most literal sense.

Her birthmarks show: **black gloves dig into her shoulders **_green gloves take her hand_--too much red like blood it hurts IT HURTS--_your feelings are making it hurt more _**I will make you pay for hurting me**, _you have to let me go_ **white eyes black talons kill him,** _fly-not-run from the boy proposing safety-not-marriage. Why won't you stop finding me?_** Why can't I get rid of him?**

She can't let go, she can't loosen her grip because if she does then everything will fall apart and there will be no friends--no laughing, no protectiveness, no sincerity, no knowing.

_No more, no more no more **no more no more**--_

The door to the roof opens.

"Raven?" This voice isn't Robin, there is no steeled tenor that softened to sound comforting. (_Raven it's me--Robin. Don't you remember me?_ I remember you, but I don't know why because **I'm lost.**) This is Starfire, with her honeyed childlike soprano that she would recognize anywhere.

But she can't answer even if it is Starfire, because she's too cold and her eyes are burning and there's something hot running down her face; is Slade back again, is he bringing her birthmarks back to the surface?

"Raven, is something troubling you? The table in the main room has exploded," Starfire asks again.

"...Starf-ire..." she croaks, breath hitching in the middle of the name. "Why'd you come out here? You hate rain."

"Erm... As much as I dislike this facet of Terran weather, I have decided to venture into this unpleasant meteorological event to ask the reason for your distress."

"I-it's nothing, really... I'm just... remembering things."

"Ohh... Raven, you are avoiding my questions." Starfire floats, towering over her a moment before sitting a few inches above the ground. "Such verbal evasion is said to be common among humans, or at least Cyborg tells me so, but I am most unamused by it--particularly if it is you or Robin refraining to answer me. Would you _please_ tell me what bothers you?"

"...I..." Starfire's emotions are starting to reach her, she hates it when Star gets like this because it's so much genuine _feeling_--why do Tamaranians feel so much? "I'm..."

A shaky breath as Starfire waits for the rest of her answer.

"I'm not... okay..." she finally chokes out. This is not the truth, not all of it--she just doesn't know how to describe this, but it's the right direction, and when has she ever spoken candidly about her feelings? "I'm not okay, Starfire. I feel... like..."

"Raven, it is quite clear that you are not okay."

A pause.

Then, surprisingly, Starfire leans over and hugs her--even though it's Raven she's hugging, Raven the dark moody one, Raven the half-demon daughter of Trigon, Raven who shuns physical contact. And Raven is neither suffocating, nor is her neck painfully cracking as it would in one of Starfire's usual tackles. Rather, she is in a relaxed, almost loose-armed grip and Starfire's saying something in Tamaranian like a mother (Arella said something before the monks came for Raven, she said it too late and Raven heard her voice but not what she was saying) that makes her feel like...

Like...

...home...

**NOTE Oct. 13:** My computer crapped out on me last week--whenever I turn it on, the screen fades to greyish white and I can't do anything on it. I'm typing this and my other author's notes on a school computer.

To put it clearly, I may not be able to update for a while. I'm sorry.


End file.
